Siekiera

Just before the fall of the Berlin Wall, the world of European music was still split in two: to get a close-up view of what was going on in the socialist bloc, you'd flip through magazines or fanzines devoted to the scene, pick up the odd compilation (“Red Wave: 4 Underground Bands From The USSR” stirred up plenty of curiosity), or else, as a last resort, turn to so-called cultural exchange, as happened in 1988 in the Salento region of Italy (specifically in Melpignano, today home to tarantella festivals). There, a number of bands from the Soviet area shared the stage with Litfiba and Cccp, an event later repeated in Moscow and Leningrad a year on, when Pelù, Ferretti and co. took to the red stages for two historic shows.

If we exclude the bittersweet epic of Kino (over time their rock poetics embraced an increasingly varied audience, breaking through successfully) and a few other sporadic anomalies capable of crossing that deep dividing line, it was only with the arrival of the Nineties that it became possible to get our hands on a wealth of material that had until then remained a mystery. Only then did we fully appreciate the great post-punk ferment present in East Germany (well documented in Sasha Lange and Dennis Burmeister's book “Oltre il Muro di Berlino”), going as far as unearthing a few gems of rare beauty from a country that has always been rich in worthwhile musical scenes: Poland.

While censorship was extremely harsh in the neighbouring GDR, in Warsaw and the surrounding area it was possible to approach alternative music with relative ease, bypassing the institutional restrictions filtered through state radio and television (where Abba and the Beatles reigned supreme, alongside numerous Czechoslovak and Italian singers). In Poland, in fact, the ferment of the 80s enjoyed a good degree of freedom, as shown by the presence of Radio Trójka (a station followed closely by young people, where Western rock records could be heard) and by the famous, packed-out Jarocin Festival, where Siekiera (in the 1984 edition) performed alongside other names from the national underground.

Meanwhile, the dark and punk subcultures, feeding off the shadows and drawing inspiration from bands that had risen to prominence beyond the Iron Curtain, kept drawing (on an emotional level) from that widespread discontent which had already shaken Poland far and wide, especially after the imposition of martial law and the consequent suspension of Solidarność, the independent trade union (backed by Western governments) that later grew into a genuine political force opposed to communism. Over there, rebellion was never a passing trend, but first and foremost a cultural response: it reflected the many anxieties afflicting a new generation raised in fear of never being able to change the course of their own lives.

Siekiera (Polish for "axe") formed at the end of 1983 in a small town on the outskirts of Lublin: initially, their sound leaned towards a raw, British-inspired street punk, even though Poland was already fertile ground for plenty of new wave rock bands (from the eclectic Brygada Kryzys to the never-praised-enough Republika).

The turning point came in 1985, when Tomasz Adamski (the group's leader maximo) shut himself away in a Warsaw studio to record four tracks with the rest of the band. Two ended up on the rare 7" "Jest bezpiecznie/Misiowie puszyści", a third ("Serce") was scrapped due to technical errors, while the last track ("To słowa") went on to become one of the gems of the future "Nowa Aleksandria". Just listening to the tracks on that 45 is enough to grasp Siekiera's great transformation, now a fully-fledged post-punk act, aided by a dark, obsessive approach that owed something to the metallic nightmares spawned by the early Killing Joke. The masterpiece was just around the corner, and it saw the light of day in 1986. Ten tracks in all, sung strictly in Polish.

Siekiera's Nowa Aleksandria seems to hint at a model city forged in the memory of Alexandria, Egypt, the great cultural hub of Hellenism. But behind the cover's minimal geometric lines lurks the ever-present chaos of everyday reality, a murky greyness where every hope gets swept away.

To write the lyrics, Tomasz Adamski probably just had to look at what was right in front of him, as in the melancholy, overcast title track ("When I get up I look out the window/ a brief moment/ people head there, behind the gate, still half asleep, along the street/ a small abandoned flame/ our houses at night/ our houses next to the factories"). Socialist tower blocks and chimneys puffing away in the snow, nothing more and nothing less.

Simple but effective phrases – repeated over and over within the same song – like a hammer striking again and again at a rusty nail. Ta-ta-ta-la-la-ta-ta-ta-hej-ha sidesteps words altogether and even becomes the chorus of "Ludzie wschodu", one of their signature tracks (the bass-driven acceleration in the second half is a wonderful spark).

In Italy, though not only there, it's "Bez końca" that has truly won over the dark crowd: once again, it's Killing Joke who inspire Adamski's cutting guitar, though the track wouldn't be what it is without the support of a tight rhythm section and a constant bed of keyboards (the dark opening pace gives way to an airy, melodic refrain). Here in Italy, people were already dancing to "Bez końca" many years ago, and today it remains an essential moment in any self-respecting dark club night, mixed in perhaps between a Joy Division track and one by Danse Society.

Alongside deus ex machina Tomasz Adamski, the only survivor of Siekiera's original line-up was Dariusz Malinowski (who passed away in 2020), here handling the double role of bassist and vocalist. For the occasion, keyboardist Paweł Młynarczyk (who died in 2022) and drummer Zbigniew Musiński were also recruited. A quartet destined to implode in short order (the split came in 1988).

And yet, "Nowa Aleksandria" is a record played with fury and passion by people who seem to have known each other forever: the album oozes an extraordinary chemistry and an instrumental tightness that never lets up, right from the very first notes of "Idziemy przez las", a cold, mechanical chant that keeps needling away at exposed nerves. The rhythm section is relentless (the pulsing bassline of "Tak dużo, tak mocno" is unforgettable), while guitar, voice and keyboards find just the right balance, chasing each other through melodies brimming with harsh energy (as in "Idziemy na skraj").

Curiously, the longest and most elaborate passages on the record are two instrumental pieces: while the six flat minutes of "Na zewnątrz" pay a certain tribute to Cure (between tribal percussion and oppressive atmospheres), the closing "Czerwony pejzaż" reveals an undying love for the most claustrophobic Joy Division. The finishing blow is duly delivered, and it's a true dark masterpiece.

On the whole, "Nowa Aleksandria" is a full-length with no filler, even when the formula seems to risk repeating itself endlessly. A shining example comes with "Już blisko" (which entered Radio Trójka's top ten alongside "Tak dużo, Tak mocno"), a magnificent spectral variation on the title track, whose lyrics still reference that less-than-comforting landscape mentioned earlier ("When you've stayed silent for so long/ when you look out the window/ there's a moment like a flame/ there's a moment like a flame"). A glow that would arrive shortly after, closing one long chapter of history while opening another, not without its own burning controversies, as happened in all the countries once controlled by Moscow.

Today, this album's popularity carries on unabated at underground level, both at the heart of alternative Poland (among the tributes from various compatriots, the cover of "Ludzie wschodu" by Behemoth stands out) and across the Western world, through prized vinyl reissues (including one from the Italian-German label Mannequin) and a constant influence that has spread to a multitude of artists (another notable reworking is that of the French band Varsovie, who took on a slowed-down version of "Nowa Aleksandria"). Not to mention the contribution of several contemporary Polish bands whose sound strongly recalls Tomasz Adamski's creation: a case in point is Wieże Fabryk, from Łódź, who returned in 2023 with a substantial record titled “Doskonały świat“.

It has to be said that Siekiera's Slavic origins held a considerable appeal for an audience that had grown up musically during the 80s: accustomed to English, to the German of neue deutsche welle, or to the French of transalpine coldwave (not to mention our own Italian), the black-clad people of the night could not resist the fascination of post-punk sung in Polish, through the tracks of a record (of absolute quality) that somehow managed to throw open the doors to a whole host of scenes from the former Soviet sphere. After all, if names like Russia's Ploho or Belarus's Super Besse are being talked about today (not to mention the now hugely popular Molchat Doma), the credit also belongs to those who, unwittingly, blazed an unprecedented trail through the rugged eastern paths of our Europe. Where someone, somewhere, is still searching for a New Alexandria, that place dreamed of during the Eighties behind the frosted glass of a crumbling window.

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24/09/2023